


Skin So Bare, Gotta Mark It Up

by fated13th



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Gen, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 20:10:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6721594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fated13th/pseuds/fated13th
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy and Clarke were rivals but then rent went up so joined forces to screw the man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skin So Bare, Gotta Mark It Up

Bellamy hated the girl across the street. Her skin was too untouched, too bare to run a tattoo parlor, only a twining stem slinking out from under her left sleeve. What designs she did do on others were too pretty, too soft, too floral. But even worse, there was skill. The damn Princess could do a watercolor tat like none other he had seen. And there was that bastard cat that usually sat in the window, his golden eyes judging. Her faults alone damned her, let alone the fact she had the gall to set up shop as his competition right across the way from The Skybox.

But she wasn’t much of a threat; he had all the customers. He had been around for years and his tattoos were like a cup of coffee: you couldn’t stop at just one. His regulars kept him in business. Maybe his shop wasn’t thriving, but it was making do.

When the hipster invasion encroached on previous grounder-held land, the rent skyrocketed because of the damn art school students. You’d think he’d see enough of an increase in business from paint-splattered youngsters trying to declare their newfound freedom from parental units to give the door a fresh coat of paint but it was all he could do to keep his doors open. 

There was a brief moment of triumph when he saw the blonde across the street board up her windows and put up a permanent Closed sign but then his sister kicked him. “It’s not like you’re doing much better,” Octavia told him after listening to him gloat for a few minutes before he had to go back to the back to take care of his next customer while she watched the front desk for him. “I’m practically working for free.” She had a point. A good one this time. 

Staring at his next set of bills a few nights later, an idea popped into his head. Bellamy went online and did as much research as he could (he refused to call it ‘stalking’). And then he sent an email. He waited anxiously for a reply, busying himself with tidying up his tiny apartment and then with cooking dinner (although the timeline demanded it be called a midnight snack). He had to give up that night to go to bed but awoke with the anticipated email sitting in his inbox. He shot off a confirmation on his way out the door.

“You’re in a good mood,” Octavia said suspiciously after Bellamy greeted her when she arrived that morning.

“I need you to watch the phone during lunch,” he told her.

She pouted. “But it’s Thursday. Lincoln treats me to coffee on Thursday.”

“I just need to step out for an hour or so,” Bellamy explained. Her eyebrows quirked. “And then you can take off the rest of the afternoon.”

“Okay, wow, Bell.” She put her purse behind the reception desk and gave him a look. “First you say you’ve got a date-”

“It’s not a date,” he insisted.

“You’ve got a legitimate lunch-time  _ date  _ during daylight hours and then you tell me to take off? Oh hell no.” O grinned widely. “I’m going to stick around so I can hear all about it. Besides, you’ve got a couple appointments this afternoon. You’ll need me to man the desk then.”

“Thanks? And I never said I was going to go meet a woman,” he said.

“You wouldn’t be so... bouncy if you were going to meet a man. I know you don’t swing that way.” She turned away from him as she set up for the workday, booting up the ancient desktop computer. “Now, who’s the girl? Anyone I know?”

“I don’t think you’ve ever met her,” Bellamy said carefully, before repeating, “It’s not a date. It’s a business meeting.”

“That’s no way to refer to your girlfriend,” she teased.

“Not a date, O,” Bellamy replied, voice sing-song. “All business. So I may bring her around afterwards to show her the shop.”

“You really know how to woo a girl, Bell,” she said sarcastically. “Now I’ll really have to stick around this afternoon. I want to meet her.”

B ellamy rolled his eyes and went back to work. The day was slow so he was more than ready to take off for lunch when the time finally came. He practically flew out of the door, O calling back, “Practice safe sex!” and Bellamy shouting back, “Still not a date!” 

He reached the coffee shop absurdly early. Bell had never been there before but knew from Octavia that was relatively close to his shop so suggested it as a safe, public meeting place. He hadn’t realized it was quite  _ so  _ close and scowled as it hit him O had taken off far more time fetching coffee than she needed to. Not that he should be surprised, he mused as he reached it, as it appeared to be practically an oasis for people her age, young college students from the Art Research College’s downtown campus sprawling over the tables and chairs outside. Maybe he should’ve picked somewhere a little less crowded. And a little more formal, or professional. Maybe this was a terrible idea in general. He felt out of place among the younger clientele, even though he wasn’t all that much older than them overall, but at least his tattoos didn’t earn him a second glance here. 

Since he had some time, he went ahead and ordered his coffee and a spare and looked for a space to claim. It wasn’t as crowded as it was outside thanks to the beautiful weather they were currently experiencing. As he scanned the room, he saw a familiar head of blonde hair bent over a sketch book. He made his way over to her table and placed his second cup of joe in front of her. “Early, aren’t you, Princess?” he remarked taking a seat.

She looked up with a raised eyebrow. “Not like I have a lot to do now that I’m out of work,” she remarked, sizing him up before glancing at the coffee.

“Straight black, I didn’t know how you liked it.”

“Perfect.” He couldn’t tell whether she meant it or not as she set it aside and flipped to a blank page of her sketchbook before he got a chance to see what she was drawing. “So. Your email said you may have a position open?” Straight to business.

“Um, yeah.” Bellamy raked his hand through his hair, unsure of how to proceed. He had never held an interview before and she made it seem like he was the one under interrogation. He straightened up. He was in charge of this. “It wouldn’t pay much, but it’d give you something to do during the day. I figure if we bring on another tattoo artist, we’ll be able to handle more appointments and I’d have time to work on like marketing. The ARC’s got to be an untapped potential for business. The Skybox has room to handle you and I know you’ve got some skill.” She was scribbling notes on her paper that he tried not to attempt to read upside down, attempting to remain professional. Interviews had questions. He scrambled for something to ask. “I don’t suppose you brought any designs to show me?”

“I have a different style than you show on your website,” she told him, “which is terrible, by the way. What is it from? The 90’s? You should re-do it.” She slid the sketchbook over to him and he flipped through it idly, coming upon a group of photographs which he thumbed through. Many of the images he had seen on her online portfolio that was admittedly much better than the thrown together web page he made half a decade ago when O demanded he have a web presence.

“Yeah? And I suppose you know html?” he challenged. The photographed tattoos were impressive. It was ridiculous that she was out of work with this level of talent. 

She shrugged, reaching for the coffee he had given her. “I know some coding. Had to take a class in it. Did you look at my online portfolio? I did that as my final project. I’ve kept it updated, of course.”

“Where did you go to school?” He matched up a photograph to a sketch, appreciating the realization of the piece.

“Arcadia University. I was on the pre-med track but dabbled in the art department too much.”

“Pre-med?” He looked up at her at that. “What got you into tattoos?”

“Figured it was better than going into scarification,” she said with a straight face before cracking a small smile at his raised eyebrow. “Had a quarter-life crisis and the University kicked me out.”

Both his eyebrows were now raised. “Should I be concerned?” he asked blandly.

“No,” she replied. “But it put me off medical school. Figured I’d combine something I enjoyed, art, with something I could handle that many of my peers couldn’t, needles.”

“Wouldn’t think you were a badass with all your florals, Princess,” Bellamy said, smirking, gesturing towards her designs.

She shrugged. “Flowers can be deadly. And my name is Clarke. Clarke Griffin.”

He realized that they hadn’t actually introduced each other earlier. “I’m Bellamy Blake.” He offered an outstretched hand sheepishly. “It’s nice to meet formally meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Bellamy.”

“Do you, um, have any questions for me? If you wanted, I could show you the Skybox, if that’d help you make a decision,” Bellamy offered.

“Yeah. You said that it wouldn’t pay much. How little are we talking about? Minimum wage? Living wage? Are there any benefits?”

“Well, if you wanted to work full-time, which I’d appreciate, then I’d scrounge up money for health care for you. You’d be on commission to start out with, thirty percent of every sitting you do is the best I can offer right now but I’ll split any profits with you, you’d be like my partner.”

“You make this sound like a very enticing offer.” She leaned back with her arms crossed, unimpressed.

“I’m not going to lie, the Skybox is in a bit of trouble. Less now that my competition across the street has closed-” she nodded at the acknowledgement, “but I could still use some help. You’ve got talent and it looked like your customers left pleased. You’ve got some strengths in areas where I’m lacking and I’m sure the reverse is also true. I’ve got the customer base and materials.” She wasn’t looking convinced so changed track. “Look, you accepted to meet with me. Whether it was just checking out options, interest, or out of sheer desperation, I don’t really care but it means you’re curious and could say yes.” He hoped he read her right and was playing his cards well. “They forced you to close your doors. I can’t believe that you’ll just roll over and accept defeat like that. I’m offering you an opportunity to strike back.”

“Today the neighborhood, tomorrow the world,” she mocked.

“Or would you prefer today a paycheck or tomorrow back with your campaigning mother taking polite family portraits?” he retorted. “That’s how come you don’t have much ink yourself, isn’t it?”

Her eyes narrowed, and he would’ve sworn he physically felt her burning glare. “That’s none of your business.”

“She’s the first thing that comes up with you google your name, you know,” he said, finally leaning back in his own chair, smirking at her irritation.

She huffed. Of course she knew. “I want to see your shop. This isn’t me saying yes,” she stated, “This is me continuing to consider it as a possible option.”

“Of course, Princess,” he said, giving her a mock bow after standing. “This way.” After she packed up her things, they grabbed their coffees and left. “Did you drive? It’s just a short walk so you can come back for your car afterwards.”

“I can’t imagine you frequent this coffee establishment despite its proximity to your place,” Clarke said instead, ignoring his question.

“You’d be right. I don’t have all that much of a coffee habit.” Mainly because he couldn’t afford one. “My sister recommended it. I think she has some friends who work behind the counter. You’ll be meeting her. My sister, that is. She works the desk for me when she can. Just a warning, some people find her kind of… intense.”

“Noted.”

They continued small talk for the few minutes it took to reach the Skybox. Bellamy tried to look at it through Clarke’s perspective and suddenly felt sheepish at the sight of tattoo parlor tucked in between a used bookshop and a boutique, its name painted in blue and outlined in red on the glass of the barred windows. “I know she looks a bit shabby but I haven’t gotten around to giving the front a fresh coat of paint. It’s better on the inside, I promise,” he assured her. She just gave him a look before walking through the door, prompting a small bell to jingle.

“Welcome to the Skybox, how can I--oh. It’s you.” Octavia, perched on the stool behind the front desk, gave Clarke a slow look-over before smirking over at Bellamy. “No wonder you wouldn’t tell me who your date was.”

“Not my date, O,” Bellamy said, exasperated. 

She hopped off her stool and walked over to Clarke, offering her hand in welcome. “I’m Octavia Blake. Welcome to the Skybox. Let me show you around, see if I can do a better job than Bell here to convince you to come help us out, if only so I can get you to do a sleeve of butterflies for me.” The blonde followed his sister, bemused, as she led her around the small shop. Bellamy trailed after them, ready to answer any questions, before a customer called him away for business. By the time he finished, Clarke was gone and O was back at the front desk. “She said she’d let you know. She needs to think about it. Christ, Bell! I thought you hated her but now you want her to join us?”

“I think she’d be good here. With a bit more help we can have the time to really tap into the art school market,” Bellamy said defensively. 

“We may lose our older customers if she tries to gussy up the place with her civilized manners. They like the aesthetic,” O pointed out.

He rolled his eyes. “The aesthetic is staying. It’s still my place. I haven’t let you put any feminine touches, why would I let her?”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Feminine touches? What have I tried to get you to do that would infect the place with cooties?”

“You kept trying to bring those flowers in.”

“And they did brighten up the place. You were fine with it until you discovered they gave you allergies.”

Bellamy scowled and was thankful to hear the jingling of the front door signalling a distraction.

The next day O stole his phone, telling him he should focus on his customers instead of constantly checking his email. Three days after, she told him to stop moping and that they’d be fine without Clarke. On the fifth day, he saw her on television, standing supportively behind her speech-giving mother. On the sixth, he woke up to a one sentence email that read “When can I start?” On the seventh, Clarke Griffin joined the Blake siblings at the Skybox.


End file.
